My Pain
by meep
Summary: Draco's thoughts on why not to love and what pain is to him. DM/LM DM/SS not graphic


MY PAIN

Rated: R

Warnings: mention of rape, non-con, violence, abuse, incest, severe angst.  DM/LM DM/SS not graphic, merely Draco's thoughts.

Disclaimer: I own nothing

_word_ means emphasis on the word

*word* feelings/actions

They see me as a spoilt brat, a stuck up Death-Eater-in-training.  They are fools.  Do they think I am as well?  I'm not a fool, I see in more than just black and white.  I've seen the many shades of grey.  Do they have any idea how much I _envy_ them? I doubt it, but I do, especially Weasley and Granger.  They have it all, their innocence, optimism, hope, love, families. 

Yes. I have parents.  Lucius, who expects me to make him proud, and follow in his footsteps, as one of those serving his Master, that being known as He-who-is-consistently-defeated-by-a-child-less-than-half-his-age. Lucius, with an unstoppable temper when I do not beat Potter at Quidditch or Granger in the end of year exams.  Lucius, who believes pain is all the encouragement I need.  Lucius, who, now that I have turned 16 and hence 'legal' or 'old enough' in his eyes, uses me, desires me.  How is _that_ family? Fathers aren't meant to fuck their sons. To rape them, beat them, torture them, offer them to others.  As for Narcissa, she is glad for my existence. *closed eyes in pain* It means she doesn't have to bear my fa…Lucius' sexual frustration.  Now he just takes _everything_ out on me.  So no, I guess I don't _have_ parents.  I merely have people who donated some genetics to create me.  

Why don't I run?  I'm stuck, trapped in Malfoy Manor and without wand.  The House Elves have been ordered not to let me go outside or use any owls.  There is no hope of rescue for me.  Lucius will keep me here till September 1st when I go back to Hogwarts for my final year, but before he can do that, I must 'be' broken and 'his' obedient servant.

*bitterness*

Potter may truly _hate_ his titles, but they are a great deal better than mine.

Draco Malfoy, second rate seeker, Death-Eater-in-training, spoilt brat, stuck up prat, slimy Slytherin, and now… Daddy's little whore…Damnit!

I don't know if I'll be able to handle next year.  I must though. I will survive this and I _will_ get my revenge.  I'm not stupid enough to do the whole 'Dark' Lord routine but I'm not adverse to power. One day _I_ will be pulling the strings, and _all_ the world will be my puppets. _If_ I can make it to graduation.

Lucius has already spoken about how he has given Professor Snape permission to _do_ to me as he wills in order that I perform appropriately in the school year. In fact, he has _encouraged_ Snape to make use of his offer with comments about 'what a nice tight ass' I have and how I am 'such a wonderful cocksucker'. How do I know all this? I was in the room as Lucius spoke to Professor Snape.  In the room, tarted up as a whore on my knees, head bowed beside my father's chair.  I _wish_ I could say my teacher chastised Lucius for this, that he did not look at me with lust burning in obsidian eyes, that he did not request a _trial_ demonstration of my _skills_.

So, yes. Fuck. I envy 'perfect' Potter and his friends. Sure some of their other friends have died and Potter _has_ experienced the Cruciatus, but so have I and it is amazing how many things are worse than death.  I probably sound suicidal.  No worries there though. I already have charms placed on me to stop anything remotely resembling a suicide attempt.

This was supposed to be an explanation of why I cannot, must not and will not allow myself to love.  I know myself. If I _love_, then I will hand over my heart and soul and I cannot do that.  I _know_ how easy it is to lie.  To tell people what they wish to hear.  I _know_ I am capable of such deceit, which means I _cannot  
_ trust _anyone_ not to do the same to me.

Emotions like love, trust and compassion are folly.  They cause so much pain. I _hate_ love and all that it stands for.  I _love_ my parents and I _hate_ that I love them. I _hate_ that they do not love me in return. I hate what they do to me; hate what they have done to me. I hate it. I hate it _all_.  Is this how Voldemort was, I wonder?  Did Tom turn his back on the world and humanity out of love and hate? Whatever. I doubt he knew pain as I know it.

To be pushed onto a bed, to have your legs pushed apart, to watch as your own _father_ positions himself, ready to impale you upon his cock, raw, with no preparation, to _know_ that he is fully aware as he does it and finds no shame in the deed.

To hope and find it crushed. To be shocked and scared beyond belief when you discover that your trusted teacher is willing, oh so willing to use you as a cheap whore.  To understand that you will find no reprieve from shame and abasement at the hands of others for months to come.  To realise that even doing something, talking to someone, you would not be believed. To know you are helpless and at the whim of others and have no choice of your own.

To look and see before you, all that might have been, all that you might have had, all that _you_ might have been and to conclude that it cannot and will not _ever_ be yours.

_That_ is a part of _my_ pain.


End file.
